


The Job's Not Done Yet

by Jodygoroar



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 04x13, Angst, Bellamy becomes a nightblood, Bellamy stays behind, Bellamy stays with Clarke, Bellarke, Declarations Of Love, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Feels, Finally, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Love, Praimfaya, for bellamybb, omg, otp, super mega ultra otp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 01:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11220489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jodygoroar/pseuds/Jodygoroar
Summary: Bellamy stays behind to wait for Clarke, requested by @bellamybb





	The Job's Not Done Yet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bellamybb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellamybb/gifts).



The sound of flicking switches and Raven’s hushed directions to herself rubbed his last nerve raw, his resolve snapping like a twig under foot.

“Stop,” he whispered.

He couldn’t do it, he wouldn’t. Bellamy refused to leave without her.

“Stop,” he said again, louder and more forcefully.

Raven turned and looked him square in the eyes, the others craned their necks towards the window, expecting to see her walking through the blast doors to join them. Finding nothing but the closed wall of Becca’s lab, they looked to him, confusion coloring their features.

“I can’t leave her behind,” he explained, his eyes locked on Raven’s, knowing she would be the deciding factor. Would she risk their launch to let him stay? “Raven, I can’t leave her,” he pleaded, tears threatening his vision.

“Then don’t,” it was Monty. Monty, the practical one, the one who found the bunker and saved humanity. He said it as a fact, so simple, so easy.

“Bellamy,” Raven began, hurt in her voice and sorrow in her eyes, “we can’t wait any longer.”

Bellamy threw off his restraints, and stood abruptly from his seat next to the empty one where Clarke should have been. “Like Monty said, ‘then don’t’.”

He was met with silence, tears flowing down cheeks, and approving nods from Echo and Murphy. As quickly as he could he hugged them each, saving Raven for last. Her eyes swam as she looked at him once more, understanding clear on her face. “May we meet again,” she whispered, hugging him as fiercely as their radiation suits would allow.

“May we meet again,” he whispered, catching their eyes in turn, hoping beyond hope that it was true.

He climbed out of the ship, locking the door securely behind him and exited the launch bay quickly. Bellamy had wasted enough of their time. He stepped into Becca’s lab and locked the blast doors behind him. The moment the doors were secured Raven set the final switch and the rocket blasted them into the atmosphere.

He stood and watched until the burn of rocket fuel disappeared out of sight.

And he was alone.

He prayed to himself that she was out there, running back from the tower, that in a moment she would burst through those doors and see him waiting for her. What better way to finally tell Clarke he loves her than to stay behind to wait for her at the end of the world?

A full twenty-five minutes passed before Bellamy let his worry get the best of him. He began pacing the lab, shedding pieces of his suit with each turn. “Shit,” he whispered.

Another fifteen minutes and he was screaming every curse he knew at the top of his lungs, even the few he had picked up from the grounders.

“Nomajoka!” he shouted, slamming his fists into the metal table hard enough to dent it.

A monstrous rumble came from outside, the delicate scientific instruments rattling in their places. Horror seized his heart and he ran to the door, praying she was there, pleading with the universe that she would make it back in time.

Just as he gripped the handle, it turned in his hand.

Clarke burst through the door and Bellamy slammed it shut behind her, just seconds before the death wave hit. The incinerating wave of radiation shook the entire lab, rumbling like a sleeping beast. Every light flickered.

Clarke collapsed on the ground, her breathing labored, a huge crack in the glass of her helmet. Bellamy scooped her into his arms and carried her quickly to the nearest table. He laid her as gently as he could on the cold metallic surface.

“Bellamy?” she croaked as a coughing fit overtook her lungs, black blood dripping from the corner of her mouth.

“I’m here,” he soothed, relief flooded his body at her voice, broken as it sounded.

Bellamy tugged the ruined helmet from her head and took in the damage to her skin from exposure. Her face was a bumpy roadmap of radiation poisoning, her skin red and flaking, her lips split and bleeding. His heart wrenched and he ran for clean water to rinse her skin.

Clarke was unconscious for two full days, only momentarily calling out in her fevered sleep. Bellamy was sure she would die, but kept reminding himself of Luna, the damage she had survived. By the end of the second day he could tell that her nightblood was working. Only then did he revel in the fact that she would live.

The third morning after Praimfaya, Clarke opened her eyes and looked around. She was nestled among the pillows and blankets of the spare room in Becca’s lab. The last thing she remembered clearly was bursting through the door seconds before the death wave hit. After that it was a muddle of pain and blackness and Bellamy.

She had dreamt him, dreamed him into the lab with her, dreamed that he washed her injured face with cool water. She dreamed that he whispered his love to her, begged her to live. Surely it was her mind conjuring his voice that had brought her through the blackness. Even thousands of miles away he was her lifeline.

She sighed, the weight of the world lifted off her shoulders for the first time since she could remember. Humanity would survive, the bunker was safely packed with twelve hundred people. Octavia would find a way to keep them alive with the help of Kane, Indra, and her mother. The rocket was off, she’d done every last thing she could to give Bellamy, Raven, Monty, Harper, Murphy, Emori and Echo their best chance. She would carry her hope tucked away in her chest, locked away tightly to be let loose when they returned. She would carry on knowing it was out of her hands.

Clarke tugged the blankets up to her chin and let a single tear fall for the world. She refused to let the second escape, for surely it would open the floodgates and she would drown, alone in a world after Praimfaya.

A low clanging sound sent her nerves flying into readiness. Clarke climbed from the comfort of her bed, her limbs heavy. Her head swam a moment, an ache in her lower back telling her that her kidneys were working overtime to cleanse the radiation from her body. She would need to drink a lot of water in the next few days.

She padded quietly out of the room, her bare feet silent on the steel floor. Another bang from the kitchen and a muffled curse. Stopping dead in her tracks, Clarke’s brain shifted to overdrive; she was not alone.

As she searched for something to use as a weapon, the intruder spoke again, “Where did you hide the salt, Murphy?”

She would know that voice anywhere, in any lifetime, in any universe. Her heart soared and ached all at once. Bracing herself against the doorway Clarke watched him move clumsily through the kitchen. Bellamy stood in his black cargo pants and a grey t-shirt with holes at the hem. His feet were bare against the tile and Clarke realized all the stupid little things they had never done.

Sure, they had crash landed on earth, explored the forest, gone to war, saved lives, massacred people, stopped an A.I., and saved humanity from extinction. But they had never lounged around all day with nothing to do. They had never hugged just because they could. She had never seen his naked feet before, it was strangely intimate and almost erotic.

Clarke leaned on the wall, watching him stir noodles in a pot of boiling water, thinking just how much time they had now. Even if she gave him a marrow transfusion and he became a nightblood like her, it was would months before they could step foot outside. A smile spread across her face at the thought. She imaged them trying to cook, longing for Murphy’s culinary skills. She imaged them playing truth or dare to pass the hours. She imaged them tangled on the couch watching one of the few dozen movies stashed on the lab’s hard drives. She imaged mornings with bare feet and sleep mussed hair. She imaged nights curled around one another, finally, after all this time, letting themselves be together. There was nothing that could come between them now.

“The sauce is starting to burn,” she pointed out, startling him.

He looked up at her with a boyish joy that reminded her he was only twenty-three. Bellamy reached across the stove and flicked off the burners. “How are you feeling?” he asked, stepping towards her, his hands open.

Without a moment of hesitation Clarke stepped into his arms, wrapping her own tightly around his waist. There they stayed, the sauce cooling, the colander of noodles congealing in the sink.

For several minutes Bellamy held her, tracing soothing patterns down her spine, lacing his fingers through her hair. The sensation of his fingers burning a path of cinder down her back made it difficult to think. She struggled to answer his question.

How _was_ she feeling?

Clarke took mental stock. Her body was sore and her face was raw, she was tired and hungry and exhausted. She ached for her mother and for Raven, for all the friends that were far away or lost forever. She was heartbroken.

She was alive. She was with Bellamy, in his arms, his breath fanning against her ear, his fingers twisting in her hair. She was whole again. She was complete.

Pulling away a bit, Clarke kept her hands at his waist and answered, “I feel…”

Bellamy’s dark brows rocketed into the curls falling over his forehead, anxious for her response.

“Good,” she smiled, shrugging slightly, “considering.”

He smiled brighter than the sun.

“Bellamy?” she asked a moment later.

“Mm?” he hummed, burying his nose in the scent of her hair.

“Why did you stay?” Clarke’s voice cracked on the last word. Her insides threatening to shatter at the thought of him alone in the lab, unsure if she’d made it at all.

His lips quirked up smugly on one side, “the job’s not done yet,” he explained.

Clarke puzzled that a moment before a memory struck. _Thank you, for keeping me alive._

Wonder and gratitude shot along every one of her nerves, her soul singing a ballad of her love for Bellamy.

He pressed his lips to her face, just above the bridge of her nose, every ounce of him bursting with the knowledge that she would live, that they had years ahead of them, just the two of them. It would be a different world when the five years were up and their people returned from space and underground.

“Come on, Princess,” he whispered reverently, “let’s eat.”

There was time yet to discuss options and set plans. They chewed on terrible noodles drizzled in blackened sauce that night and it was the best meal of their lives. After dinner, they sat twined together on the couch watching something awful. Bellamy wrapped her in his arms and held her tightly against him.

He waited another week for her skin to heal before he kissed her. He knew once his lips touched hers he wouldn’t be able to stop. He was right.

A month later Clarke successfully talked him through the process of harvesting her bone marrow. Five weeks after Praimfaya destroyed the world Bellamy Blake became a nightblood.

Half a year later they stepped outside for the first time. The ground was blackened and the sky orange. It was a strangely terrible and beautiful sight. They didn’t stray far from the lab that first day, unsure how much radiation remained in the atmosphere and how much their nightblood could process. There wasn’t much point anyway, no animals remained to hunt and all the vegetation had been obliterated by the death wave.

They counted the days together, passing the time getting to know the insignificant parts of the other, the tiny details that had been useless in those first months on the ground. It hadn’t mattered that Clarke’s favorite color was the earliest blue of daybreak, or that Bellamy had freckles everywhere. It hadn’t mattered the games she and Wells had played as children, or the stories he told Octavia when she was scared. It hadn’t mattered that she loved sweets or that he hated carrots. It hadn’t mattered that she broke into a fit of giggles when he kissed her thighs, or that his toes curled into the sheets when he climaxed.

It hadn’t mattered then, but now it was everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Darling, I'm sorry this took so long, but I think it was worth it and you'll love it! Thanks for the request!
> 
> "Nomajoka" is "motherfucker"


End file.
